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More and more I find myself at a loss for words and didn't want to hear other people talking either. Their conversations seemed false and empty. I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.

Paula McLain

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Paula McLain
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 7
Author
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Fresno
California
Feel
Alone
False
Feels
Talking
Seemed
Made
Words
Sea
Never
Didn
Empty
People
Find
Conversation
Look
Loss
Nothing
Hear
Preferred
Looks
Either
Conversations

More quotes by Paula McLain

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I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park and wonder about the people who filled them, what kinds of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing.
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Nothing hurts if you don't let it.
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I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn’t ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.
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She was also incredibly confident, with a way of moving and talking that communicated that she didn't need anyone to tell her she was beautiful or worthwhile.
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Though I often looked for one, I finally had to admit that there could be no cure for Paris.
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But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.
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I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.
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Dogs are easy. If their tails are up and their eyes are soft, you're in.
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This was my one brush with love. Was it love? It felt awful enough. I spent another two years crawling around in the skin of it, smoking too much and growing too thin and having stray thoughts of jumping from my balcony like a tortured heroine in a Russian novel.
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And sometimes I think there isn’t anything to us but our mistakes.
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I miss good old-fashioned honorable people just trying to make something of life. Simply, without hurting anyone else. I know that makes me a sap.
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My life was my life I would have to stare it down, somehow, and make it work for me.
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The way I see it, how can you really say you'll love a person longer than love lasts?
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But when Bumby nursed, his fist clutching the fabric of my robe, his eyes soft and bottomless and locked on mine, as if I were the very heart of his universe, I couldn't help but melt into him.
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All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.
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Happiness is so awfully complicated, but freedom isn't. You're either tied down or you're not.
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Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.
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I'd never met anyone so vibrant or alive. He moved like light.
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Why is it every other person you meet says they're an artist? A real artist doesn't need to gas on about it, he doesn't have time. He does his work and sweats it out in silence, and no one can help him at all.
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I'd had my share of rain. My mother's illness ... had weighed on me, but the years before had been heavy, too. I was only twenty eight.
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